


Sugar

by Hecatetheviolet



Series: Everything Nice [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Black Reaper Kaneki Ken, Black Reaper Sasako, Cultural Differences, Death Wish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Kaneki, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, I just want kaneki to be Loved, Identity Issues, It is reaper after all, Let Sasako Fuck 2k18, More like pastel goth reaper, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sasako is BEST GIRL, Sexual Experimentation, Shes a spicy lady, Species Dysphoria, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Ideations, Trans!Kaneki, Transgender Kaneki, Treat yourself nihilism, agency, all of them - Freeform, gender euphoria, gender is not the suicidal topic, ghoul culture, kanekis shit life is, the pairings happen slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecatetheviolet/pseuds/Hecatetheviolet
Summary: If Kaneki Ken was slowly burning, then Sasako was fresh out of the ashes.In which a passive character learns to grow, and Sasako chooses bad role models.





	1. The Trembling Egg

The difference between Kaneki Haise and Sasako is three inches.

Three inches of height, of hair, of cup size - but these small inches build into an insurmountable tower of babble, one he feels he could never climb, even when he's standing, poised to jump, at the top.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t mean anything, the first time.

  
He’d moved out quietly, as quickly as he could – he couldn’t bear to see the children he had condemned to death in his stead suffering – the children that had lived, at least. The quinx in their castle, Hinami trapped down below in hell, Shirazu, fallen even deeper - Loss was like a physical weight, tied around his ankle, looped around his bruised throat, choking him more thoroughly than the unseen collar of the CCG ever had. His sky had fallen down, pelting him with checkered pasts and a million blurring words, and he simply could not cope.

  
He had tried to smile for them, how he thought Haise would have, pushing all his grief and pain into the corners of his mouth. Trying to soothe so many broken hearts after his own had become whole again wasn’t _right_ , it only cut deeper, betraying his own helplessness in the face of so much pain. He couldn’t bear to smile. He couldn’t bear to speak. Since he could not speak, he distanced himself instead, protecting them and enacting his own penance like one bird dodging two stones.

  
The new apartment was as small and unobtrusive as he could find on such short notice. Even with his few boxes stacked in the living area, it looked so bare and white. A cell of his own.

  
It took him nearly two days to unpack all five boxes – each time he cut one open, memories surged forward – as painful as if the knife had been piercing his skull instead of cheap cardboard _\- taking the box cutters away from Hide, who was singing far too enthusiastically to be trusted to open the boxes without incident, on the first day in his college apartment – sealing up his books in small boxes and hiding them carefully in the back of the Asoka’s mostly unused garage – carefully cutting open a wholesale sized bag of coffee beans for the first time, supervised by a leering Koma – unrolling a fresh poster, the bright colors painting the plain room in warmer hues, making him feel at home – opening up the moving boxes of the quinx, one by one as they entered his life, his protégées, his friends, his_ children _– watching the empty coffin being sealed off by useless soil, surrounded by the helpless onlookers, too far away for him to see who was crying, who was hurting, who needed to be cared for –_

  
The last box was a respite against the ebbing tide of his mind, as the memories of a thousand past lives crashed and mixed inside his broken skull. All it contained was his clothes. Suits, sweaters, Haise’s apron, a hated coat, a dress.

  
He put most of it away, leaving out the items that triggered any kind of reaction, any familiarity, any despair - more out of self preservation than any interest in parsing his own chaotic emotions. He carefully packed away some of Haise’s clothes – soft sweaters and bright colors and nice things that had been chosen by a kind person – he didn’t need such things. He was not worthy of them, of those memories. He couldn’t even fake Haise’s perfectly fake smile, anymore.

  
But the dress – the complementary turtleneck, the wig, the heels, the purse, the small makeup kit – what should be done with those? There wasn’t the same level of attachment as to the other things, as to the disgusting coat balled up in the corner – but there was something. It may have been relief. Here, finally, was something that didn’t cause him pain. If anything, the simple, unfamiliar colors and styles and objects were so far from everything else he knew that they were soothing in their strangeness.

  
Still completely overwhelmed with all the things that came with knowing the deepest truths of ones’ self, he decided without deciding to set it all aside, for a time. He folded the dress neatly and stored it with Sasako’s other things in the empty box marked _bedroom_. He was too tired and strung out and full of three – or four – people’s – Kaneki’s - _everything_ that it wasn’t worth thinking too hard about. He just wanted to stop thinking, more than anything.

 

* * *

 

 

A month later, things hadn’t settled, but they had – calmed. Somewhat. His head still raced with Haise, with Kaneki, with Rize; his body still raced with Takastuki Sen, with Eto, with a million stolen lives and pressing hungers -

  
He didn’t want to be the CCG’s Kaneki Ken. He didn’t want to be Takastuki Sen’s Kaneki Haise. He didn’t want to be Arima Kishou’s – something.

  
Pacing restlessly around his put together apartment did nothing to help; tracing his plans and his feet and the last few chapters of his brutal life did nothing to help anyone, least of all himself. But for once, he wanted to be helped. He was getting desperate – pushing and tugging and forcing every little thing into place, lining up his last shot in the dark against the world, but. There was a small part of him that was always crying, these days. A tiny thing that begged and begged and begged, acting out and making him weak in the knees whenever Arima was near, whenever an opportunity – no matter how tiny – to give up the ghost early came to him. -

  
He did not want to be _any_ kind of Kaneki right now.

  
So he chose to be Sasako, just for a time, just for a little while, to satisfy the trembling voice in the back of his head, in the small of his back. He was getting too tense, too wound up in his own fractured skull – he needed to get away, if only to ensure that he wouldn't mess up later.

  
Feeling overwhelmed, close to breaking, he put himself in Sasako’s shoes. Slowly, carefully, he hung up his – _Kaneki’s_ clothes, and Sasako dressed herself neatly, in her only outfit. She uncovered the mirror in the bathroom for the first time in a month, and almost didn’t recognize what she saw there. Applying her makeup in the only style she knew – minimal, with only tender pinks and mascara – felt like slipping on a physical garment, like wearing clothing after being cold and naked for so long – like peeling off a mask, rather than putting one on.

  
The soft knit dress clung comfortably, binding her body into human shape. After floating helplessly for so long, connected to the earth by a thread, a whim, a date a few bare months in the future – being pressed so firmly into shape felt so, so _grounding_. The brush of her light hair, such a shocking color to see next to her face again after so long, felt liberating. The weight on her chest, the gentle pressure of her false eyelashes, the tender shade of her pink lipstick -

  
_Oh._

  
She felt clean, somehow, bright and new and freshly shined, reflecting the rays of the sun. The clamor of voices and wants and needs did not exist in her head; she was free – not _tabula rasa_ , but so much _better_.

  
She walked slowly, mindfully to the neatly made bed – Sasako had so much to do, so much she wanted to do; she would have left it unmade – and carefully slipped on her heels, noticing each sensation as if it was the very first time she’d ever encountered them. The simple little heels, open and basic, felt like they lifted her far, far further than three inches. She gripped her dress tightly over her knees, raising the hem a little so she could see how her stockings looked on her legs, how her heels looked on her feet - her thin ankles, the new colors - It was amazing, how much of a difference dressing differently made.

  
She felt reborn – if Kaneki was burning slowly, then Sasako was fresh out of the ashes.

  
She left her phone behind, as she ventured quietly outside, nerves keeping her back pressed to her apartment door for a few long, agonizing moments. Her purse slipped a bit, and she caught it in her - her right hand - The disgusting glove clashed with Sasako's soft outfit so harshly that she couldn't do anything but notice it.

  
A sudden flood of negative feelings rushed over her – over Kaneki Ken, sneaking out of his own apartment at nearly three in the morning, dressed in – _in a dress_ – why -

  
He ducked back inside his white, white apartment, and did not leave again.

 

* * *

 

 

Kaneki dreamed.

 

_In the dream, he was either a butterfly or a centipede. The sky dripped heavy mauve droplets down over his tender head, staining his hair darker colors before sliding off and leaving him white and open for the next drop. The drops puddling up around his body were a deep, laughing purple. A spider swam there; he couldn’t move or else she’d drown him._

 

 _Everything was gray and distorted and dripping;_ this isn’t what I look like _, thought the snake that was the dreaming Kaneki Ken. There were white patches like tears in paper scattered around – the drops fell from these wounds, covering the checkered floor with false confidence._

 

 _Different shades of blue and yellow buoyed him up, away from the darkening purple of the bottom of the dream._ That’s okay _, thought the dreaming Kaneki Ken who was a phoenix,_ I can’t fly on my own yet _. But it wasn’t okay. One by one the colors dropped away into the gaping tears until only the smudges of their strength remained on his scales. The suffocating world circled closer and closer and darkened to a blinding, sightless white._

 

It wasn’t necessarily a cruel dream, but it still left him with a lingering sense of disquiet and sadness when he woke. The fuzz that kept him from thinking too deeply had settled in over night. Thoughtlessly, he went to the kitchen.

 

It shocked him fully awake to find only a coffee maker and a single mug set in the still unfamiliar sink – he – he had been intending to start breakfast for -

 

He covered his eyes with his good hand and tried not to breathe too much.

 

* * *

 

His mood didn’t improve when Furuta contacted him around noon, pleading almost convincingly for a lunch break meet up to discuss a new case. He’d mostly figured out what kind of person his new partner was, and wasn’t too invested in letting him get any closer, in case he noticed – something. One of the very many things that was wrong with him, that had been made wrong with him.

 

He spent the day locked inside, going over his files and plans and options and limitations obsessively, and crossed out another day on the calendar.

 

Kaneki’s roiling emotions had finally iced over. It wasn’t quite rage that had sealed the unfathomably deep well – it felt to him that he had woken up encased in a thin layer of frost – that his fear had inverted; gone from needling his own skin every moment to pointing outwards, suffocating him and prickling everyone around him. He was fine with the CCG feeling the brunt of that pain, but it was becoming a chore to hide how far those needles stretched, how many of those doves he could impale at once, how much ground he could cover with only his – patient bitterness.

 

Though he was waiting, he was discontent to wait. His time was as short as a lit wick, and he had to tie himself to something flammable before it went out.

 

Kaneki Ken was running as fast as he could, and praying that someone ahead of him held out the knife.

 

* * *

 

That night, it rained. It was the clean, healthy kind of rain that swept down weightlessly and kept the air warm. He opened the windows, let the curtains billow. He was feeling a bit melodramatic.

 

His mood was still horrible, but when hadn’t it been? He’d always had a poor attitude, but there were consequences now. There were victims. _If he’d just fought a little harder_ -

 

He’d worked himself into a corner again, and was feeling a little nauseated with the building stress and anxiety. The ice in him was dangerously close to cracking.

 

Kaneki needed to free Hinami – he couldn’t because he wasn’t strong enough yet to take on all of Cochlea and – and Arima. He wanted to be near Arima - he wanted to die by Arima’s giving hand – he wanted to trust in Arima. He missed Touka – he couldn’t confess to her what he’d done to Hinami, what he’d done under the white banner of the CCG, what he was doing now. He missed Tsukiyama, but there was no way in hell that he deserved to see him anymore – if he was still alive. He missed the quinx. He missed Banjou. He missed Shirazu, Yoshimura, his own humanity.

 

A thousand wants circled him like vultures, crawled up his spine, crawled out from his spine. It didn’t feel like any of them were his. The night would pass slowly, if he let it. If he let his usual fear and passivity keep him tracing increasingly agitated circles in his apartment while the world roared on without him – while others suffered and lived and died while he looked away -

 

He needed to do something. He _needed_ to do something. That was the whole problem – wanting and wanting and wanting while waiting in the shadows, while casting shadows.

 

The build up was painful, and Kaneki didn’t know what to do -

 

The back of the chair he’d grabbed onto at some point – when had he stopped pacing? - cracked sharply under his hands. He jerked back, startled, the sudden noise lancing through his skull, and the chair toppled to the floor. Absolute silence descended, for a long blissful moment; the rain that had become static filtered through his agitation slotted back into place in his perception. He could _breathe_. The chair had cracked – not him.

 

This could be fixed, be swept away like it had never happened – and the catharsis of it was -

 

With the chair set back in its place at the tiny table, the closed computer, the neatly arranged files – it was like setting his mind back in order. He felt so much more clear headed, calmer.

 

He slipped on his coat – Arima’s coat – crisp and new, unworn yet, and slipped quietly out the door. Resting his back against the his closed door, he watched the rain fall in slow motion for a long moment. He’d gotten this far, once more, but where, exactly, could he go? Who could he trust? Who would he not endanger? _Who could help Kaneki Ken?_

 

* * *

 

The Helter Skelter Bar was just as odd looking as he remembered it to be. Homely and completely unassuming on the outside, it offered dimly lit, warm bricked comfort within. He hesitated outside the door, uncertain. Why was he here? Who was hoping to see? Itori? Uta? Yomo? Oh, but he missed Yomo.

 

He shouldn’t be here, drenched from the rain and desperate for - for - anything, at this point.

 

Before he could commit to leaving, the door swung open.

 

A strange ghoul stepped out, a tiny girl slipping on an odd half mask like the face of a chipmunk. Unfamiliar.

 

She glanced at him, then paused, staring. Her mouth opened slowly, stretching wide as though she was trying to speak and suppressing a smile at the same time, before she ducked down in an exaggerated curtsy, gripping her brightly patterned skirt with faux delicacy.

 

“E-excuse me,” Kaneki managed weakly. The strange ghoul giggled, waving behind her to whoever was in the bar before sauntering off down the hall.

 

He steeled himself for another long moment. They – might not be able to help. Might not trust him, anymore. He was aware of that. But he need something, anything, _he had to try_ -

 

He pushed open the door and stepped quietly inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Kaneki stood on the threshold, dripping onto the clean floor. There was no one else in the bar aside from Itori, who was facing the shelves. Her hair had grown out some since he last saw her.

 

Relaxing a little, he shrugged off his wet coat, hanging it on the rack by the door and letting the warm air inside fill in the chill. Itori alone was – probably the best he could have asked for, actually. No Yomo to reel her in, but no Uta to egg her on. Itori floated on her own balance, one that he had learned how to deal with, with Tsukiyama and Banjou and the triplets and desperation and conviction at his side.

 

Itori finished setting the last bottle back into place, and started to call out a greeting – that turned into a shriek when she finally turned and saw him. He couldn’t help the awkward little smile he gave her, not sure exactly what her reaction meant, but feeling distinctly like a wayward child who was coming home after being out very, very late. Disappointment with him was the least negative reaction he could assume.

 

“Hello again, Itori, it’s – ah, it’s been awhile, so -” She interrupted his floundering by waving him over to the bar excitedly, already speaking over him.

 

“Kaneyan! And Uta just left!” Her excitement continued, even as her bright eyes flickered over him shrewdly. The shadows seemed suddenly closer, as though they’d moved in when he blinked – this whole place was Itori – reeked like ghoul – _was full of eyes -_

 

 _But it was familiar._ It was darkness that surrounded him, ghoul scent - this place was hidden away from the prying eyes he was actually afraid of – this was comfortable, in comparison. He let out his aborted breath quietly, dismissing the momentary fear, and took a seat at the bar.

 

Itori had busied herself with pouring two glasses of wine – she started to recork the bottle, then glanced up at him for a second and topped the glasses off a bit more instead. Kaneki tried not to feel amused. Some things never change.

 

“So!” She said brightly, pushing one glass over to him and taking her own in hand, “What brings you around again, hm?”

 

His words ran dry. Itori, who was never one for dryness, tapped her nails on the bar and leaned forward a bit, scooting the full glass closer to him.

 

Feeling – a little bit more willing than he had the last time she’d offered him a drink – _holy shit Kaneyan that was only two glasses! What do you mean you’ve never had any before? Aw, I have to teach you! I think that’s enough, Itori._ _Ken, go home. Aw. -_ though he hadn’t exactly come down just to have a drink.

 

He – was aware enough of himself now to admit that he’d wanted some positive attention, just for a bit. Being fussed over could be surprisingly nice.

 

“Itori...” The words wanted to start pouring out, as they so often did, but he still didn’t know what to say, or why. This was the fundamental problem, he thought, scowling. He’d always been a reader of others words, not a writer of his own. But – but he wouldn’t be, soon. He had to make everything he did count.

 

He hadn’t even begun to look up before he felt a light prod on his nose.

 

Itori laughed teasingly, her eyes crinkled with delight. Rize floated through his mind, like a tiny fish in a pond, but he couldn’t think of why.

 

“What a scary face. Somethings never change,” she tacked on fondly.

 

“My face isn’t...” With the bags under his eyes and his limp, sad hair, he couldn’t really argue, so he took to the wine instead.

 

“I need some advice. I can give you some information, if you want, but I just need...”

 

“To talk a bit?”

 

He supposed that was true.

 

“Well, since it’s been so long, I guess I’ll waive your fee - just this once.” Her playful wink wasn’t exactly confidence inspiring, but he’d take what he could, here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about a post traumatic arc where a character is forced to remain passive and unassuming while plotting violent revenge that is just so _feminine._  
>  What I'm saying is that black reaper is every noir femme fatale setting off every kill bill siren at once.  
> More Traumatized black reaper representation, less needlessly fuckt and overly dominant black reaper, pls and thank.  
> This is now a Real Thing, ya'll.  
> 


	2. Diving Deep

A particularly brutal mission had left him so completely exhausted that he couldn’t do anything more than flop sadly on his bed, unable to sleep but unwilling to move. He was aware that he was sulking, but every little thing was _so much_ these numbered days.

 

Keeping his eyes closed didn’t make the calendar above his head disappear.

 

Releasing all his pent up breath, he pulled himself up, removing his glasses and rubbing his face vigorously, trying in the most inefficient way possible to wake up. Beginning a long day with a hangover was probably one of his worse choices. The adrenaline had helped, as had the tiny, unwanted bites his kagune kept taking.

 

Rather than sitting uselessly – leaving any amount of time unfilled without some form of use felt _disgusting_ , when so much was happening all around him – he sank into a slightly too hot bath and let himself have a solid cry. The release didn’t quite help him feel any better emotionally, but the silence that came after felt more natural. The heat felt nice, at least.

 

It felt strange on his – afflicted arm. The heat, the light pressure of the water – it all came to his senses slowly, as though through mud. The tiny delay between touching and feeling was deeply uncomfortable, still new enough that it was hard to ignore. At least it was staying in the correct shape, and not melting into a simple kagune limb when he slept or forgot about it, like it had those first few days.

 

It had never sprouted a mouth, either. _Yet._ The others – his main kagune – or Takastuki Sen’s kagune – _had it ever been Rize’s?_ \- had been metamorphosing beyond his control. Grasping hands, tearing claws, tugging mouths – eyes, eyes, _eyes._

 

He shuddered a little and submerged his face, covering his aching eyes, the panic he’d felt pressing in earlier seeping back into his bones. His kakuhou, relaxed finally from being released earlier that day, was ominously satisfied.

 

_Hinami in Cochlea –_ _the ghouls he’s put beside her – the ghouls he’d eaten –_ _the quinx in the châteaux – Touka at Re –_ _the bites his deranged kagune took –_ _Tsukiyama, gone, maybe – Hide,_ gone _– Amon_ _Kotarou_ _– Irimi – Koma – Yoshimura – and where was_ _Kanou? Rize? Shirazu’s corpse?_ _What had Takastuki Sen done to him?_

 

He slid under the cooling water, feeling trapped, completely boxed in from all sides – the situation was horrible, and the situation was _his fault_ , and the situation was stagnant. There was so little he could do, so few moves he could make, that wouldn’t result in the entire chessboard going up in flames.

 

_There was nothing he could do_.

 

The familiarity of that lament was like a bell tolling all through his life; he felt like he’d heard no other sounds at all, sometimes. He need to – do something else, other than sulk and panic all day. It was only, what, noon? The raid had been at eight, and with his kagune it had been – it had been over quickly, at least. He’d – wasted enough time doing nothing already. The cup of his mind was held together by surface tension; another drop of _anything at all_ and he would burst. He needed to get away, farther than he already had. Further from the quinx, from Arima, from the CCG, from Kaneki Ken -

 

He pulled himself from the water and just stood for a long moment, clutching the towel to his chest, dripping. When he looked up, a stranger stared back at him from the still uncovered mirror. _Some concealer to cover the dark bags beneath his eyes, some color to fix his washed out, fear-pale skin, something to give his soft cheeks some definition -_

 

But no. Not today. Desperately wanting to feel better didn’t mean that he deserved to.

 

Instead, he sat at the table, surrounded by the files he’d been slowly pilfering, staring at his slowly booting laptop. The bath had helped with his ridiculous hangover headache, at the least, but now he just felt hollow. A strange, anxious buzz had settled under his skin.

 

A strange noise echoed through the apartment. Kaneki remained at the table, not quite hearing it, for a long moment. His head lifted when it came again, blinking slowly, honestly confused. _Was someone really knocking at his door?_ He might be more hungover than he thought.

 

The knocking came again, distinctly impatient. It really was a shame that he hadn’t been given a ghoul’s senses – it would have been nice to hear what the fierce whispering behind the door meant before he opened it. Behind the peephole was only a solid block of orange.

 

Before another round of knocking could invade his silence, he pulled the door open on it’s chain, squinting against the light – and was met with his own reflection. He jerked back a bit, startled, as Uta slowly crept closer, his solid glasses reflecting Kaneki twice over, surrounded by the stagnant white of his dreary little apartment – _Uta_.

 

He weakly started to stutter out a greeting, but Uta’s masklike face gentled into his clean, honest little smile, which, when compared to the loud greeting Itori trilled out as she pushed him out of the way, was almost soothing.

 

“Good morning! Are you ready to go? I’ve already picked out a few places, and - “ He removed the chain and opened the door wider, more confused than he had been a minute before. Why would he tell any ghoul this address. This had to be unsafe. Why would he tell Itori his address. It was last night, wasn’t it.

 

He ushered them in, thankful for the manic episode of deep cleaning he’d had a few nights ago. Itori continued in, wandering toward his kitchen. He started to get a bit worried, but then stopped caring. She probably already knew everything in the files he had out there, anyway. The coffee in the pot was fresh and decent, so that was good. But _Uta_.

 

He floundered, trying to think of something to say, but Uta had always been better at speaking to him than he’d ever be at replying.

 

“It’s been a while, Kaneki,” Kaneki nodded, smiling weakly, unaccountably glad to be able to see him again. Itori, Uta… this wasn’t as bad as he’d been worried it would be. Awkward, yes, since he’d been exiled and then exiled himself from them for so long, but neither had forgotten him. Neither had left him in turn, though he would have deserved it.

 

They sat together on the couch, and Uta, who’d always been a more tactile person, reached out and squeezed Kaneki’s shoulder gently, patting him once as he tried to apologize for leaving for so long. Uta shook his head slowly, interrupting the speech that was growing increasingly despondent.

 

“You’re alive. And you’ve gotten even more interesting,” Uta mused. “I’m glad I get to see it, that’s all.”

 

Kaneki nodded, trying not to sniffle now that things made sense and everything was okay. Itori cooed from the kitchen doorway, drinking coffee out of the messy clay cup Saiko had given Haise for his birthday one year. If it was anyone else, Kaneki would have been wary of them balancing two full cups in one hand over his white carpet.

 

“What a sweet moment! Let me join in,” She passed Kaneki and Uta two other mismatched mugs, then settled down on the other end of the sofa, boxing Kaneki into the center.

 

"So! I told Uta, but that's it - they're a good help, I'm just here for the fun. But it doesn't look like you're ready for today," She ended with a sigh, shaking her head dramatically. He didn't know what he should be ready for, but he was certain that he wasn't ready for it, like most other things.

 

"You let him get too drunk," Uta accused plainly. His thin hand had migrated down to Kaneki's own for another nice pat, but now it pulled away as he held his coffee in both hands. He - _they_. Itori had said _they_. Kaneki hadn't known you could do that. He hid a bit behind his own cup, observing as Uta drank their own watered down coffee, which had only been half full. He studied Uta's smooth face, all high cheekbones and stark ghoul eyes, and applied the word _they_ again. It made sense, in a poetic sort of way. _Neither with nor without_.

 

"What am I supposed to be ready for?"

 

Uta shook their head, as Itori grinned.

 

"We're going shopping, Kaneyan. Now, " She leaned forward, smiling a bit too brightly, looking a little too honest, which activated Kaneki's flight or fight instincts immediately. "Let's see this pretty dress of yours!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her dressing had been rote; still unaccountably calming, but somehow _less_ – she hadn't been enjoying herself as much, lately. It distracted her, helped her feel more whole, more settled – _but_.

 

She didn’t actually have concealer. Or a different dress.

 

Even so, she wanted very much to _leave_. She needed to get away from this life for a bit, just for a little, selfish while. She wanted to feel better. Wanted to let others _help her_ feel better.

 

Sasako took in a deep breath, fiddling with her hands for a few seconds – her red gloves crinkling – before bravely opening the bathroom door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Makeup – clothes – maybe shoes – maybe that’s too much, for your first shopping trip - can you even walk in heels?" Itori strutted beside her, leading the way to the shops she'd chosen in the first ward. The noise her high heels made on the sidewalk was incredibly satisfying, Sasako had to admit. And they made her legs look incredible, though that also could have been the length of her skirt.

 

_Sasako’s first shopping trip._

 

That was… kind of exciting. It was so different, so new – less silly than she thought it would be, more fun. Two of the people she trusted to help her stay steady on her feet were here, beside her, doing just that.

 

"Let Sasako choose things," Uta chided gently, as though they hadn't been absently sketching clothing designs in a small notebook as they walked. They regarded her from behind their lenses. "What do you want?"

 

Itori interrupted with a triumphant noise, pointing out the shop she'd chosen as they came close. For a moment, Sasako felt her heart sink a bit. This kind of place was - not unfamiliar, these types of upscale stores were Tsukiyama's preferred venue - but she really wasn't sure about starting out somewhere so _expensive_. This seemed like the kind of place that - that women who were sure of themselves went. Like Itori. Sasako felt distinctly dowdy in her modest knit dress, compared to Itori and Uta's expressive styles. Itori didn't let her doubt herself for too long; marching back over and taking Sasako's arm, she guided her into the store, Uta following.

 

The elegant, minimal storefront was all clear glass and dark metal, save for an advertisement wedged into the corner of a window - a black, stylized wheel with large spokes etched onto heavy cardstock, and a few bright fashion posters. Inside was more chaotic, and a little overwhelming for it.

 

There was so many dresses – colors, styles, cuts, patterns, lengths. And other things. Skirts, dress shirts, pantyhose – even the socks were different! What _did_ she want?

 

Itori patted her arm. "We'll help you look around! And show me the things you try on, I want to see!"

 

She had a whole store to go through, and all afternoon to find out. The busy distraction was exactly what she needed. The chance to sort herself out, to place everything she saw into neat categories, was a wholly welcome one.

 

* * *

 

The dressing room was – a little different.

 

She approached the area slowly, following behind Itori, with her arms full of clothes that needed to be vetted.

 

It was nice to find things that were familiar, in a way. A black top with the shoulders cut out – a black and white striped dress – sweaters in simple colors, anything that she thought was nice to look at. Her pile was mostly grey, but she thought she’d give a little color a try, too. It was step two that was making her hesitant. The only changing rooms she’d ever been in had been – with Tsukiyama. Just a few times, to humor him, and to give him some small, harmless thing that he’d wanted in return for all his help. Or to help Hinami choose between outrageously expensive designer dresses, with Tsukiyama encouraging her. The fond nostalgia was lifting her mood a surprising amount.

 

The attendant greeted them easily and directed her to a door without question or comment, Itori handling the details. Sasako found herself smiling gratefully, the ease of the interaction doing wonders for her sudden nerves. Those nerves buzzed again when another stall door suddenly opened, and a short woman with pink hair exited. Sasako took in a sharp breath, but of course it was some - some ghoul woman, with fashionably huge sunglasses. It wasn't often that she could pick a ghoul out of a crowd, but something about her was obvious enough, in some unidentifiable way. Sasako turned away, heading further down the hall.

 

Once the door closed she froze up again. She recognized that she was starting to feel a bit unsteady, so she took a moment to settle herself. It was already decided; she was done being upset for the day. This was just – a small thing, to make herself feel better. A shopping trip with her friends. _A shopping trip_. She might have been a little giddy, still.

 

She undressed to her slip hesitantly, facing away from the mirrors, and picked out a dress from the pile. It was a simple thing; a light grey turtleneck that reached to a few inches above her knees, long sleeved – covering, but flattering. Fiddling with the ends of the sleeves and fixing the hem, she gathered the courage to look in the mirror.

 

It was not a bad look. Not at all. It matched her eyes, and was comfortable. She fluffed her hair a bit, studying the dress in the mirror. Yes, Sasako decided, this was – good. This was _fun_. Taking in a quick, deep breath, she cracked the door open slowly and hesitantly called for Itori.

 

Itori, who had been tugging at something piled in Uta’s arms, whipped around immediately. Uta leaned around her, trying to see. Itori clapped her hands together soundly, beaming with compliments while Uta nodded sagely, offering something black. Scowling, Itori tried to swat it away from them.

 

“You two wear too much black!” She huffed fondly, watching Sasako try on the sheer black overdress. “At least try one of the other colors.”

 

* * *

 

Though everything she chose was a bit more expensive than she had thought it would be, she had a rather large sum of money in her bank account – not having to purchase basic food supplies did that, she supposed. And it wasn’t like she had ever been a big spender, otherwise. Books, gifts... Haise had impulse bought some weird things, sure, but overall they’d never been a big spender – so it was only fair that Sasako do what she wanted, since it was almost over.

 

It was still early when she made it back to her apartment, but she still took the chance to set her new things away neatly and put on a new nightshirt. It was just an overlarge tshirt in a very soft blue, but the newness of it was soothing, and she fell asleep easily, her mind blissfully empty.

 

 


	3. Baring New Fangs

He tries not to avoid Arima, if he can help it. Haise wasn’t the most attentive to Arima’s interest in staying close, though Kaneki was surprised that he had noticed it at all, _after_ , honestly. It was in the small things, that things that he _had_ to notice now, when he least wanted to. The constant checking in, regular visiting, asking around with others – Akira had complained more than once that Haise _should just go talk to him already_ , Furuta, Hirako, as though he’d somehow know – the personal sparing matches, the inclusion in his impulsive little office games, always sitting so close, whenever he could...

 

Arima was – an obstacle. The final fight he would ever have. That was all.

 

That was absolutely not why he’d bought a black coat in a fit of pique. He didn’t want Arima’s attention – his ineffectively gray eyes burning like spotlights on Kaneki’s back as he tried to – tried –

 

He had no idea what he was doing anymore, other than panicking.

 

So the coat. He went quietly against Arima, in every little way he could, digging in his heels and resisting without resisting, smiling without meaning it, turning away quietly, letting his desperately thirsty kagune coil loosely – he stopped dodging so much. Letting the ghouls whose lives he was stealing wound him was the least he could do – letting them go down fighting instead of cornered in an alley was the smallest, most disgusting of mercies.

 

Though, thinking of mercies, Furuta gave him none. Kaneki thought privately that he’d been assigned to work with him as a constant tail, a monitor, a drowning stone. He’d become used to all manner of unusual people – Tsukiyama, Nico, Uta, Hairu – he missed her, too, sometimes – so Furuta wasn’t, by comparison, all too bad. It helped that Kaneki wasn’t the type who got angry easily, or nursed grudges - Kanou was a very _special_ case. Maybe he was the only CCG operative left who could handle Furuta’s… _Furuta_.

 

“Boss!” Furuta had chimed, handing him a coffe cup, incongruously happy to see Kaneki’s dower, too-early-morning expression upon his slightly late arrival. Haise had always been punctual, right beside Arima. Kaneki prized his rare sleep, thank you.

 

He mused on these things as he fished an absurdly tiny plastic duck out of his coffee. Maybe he should retaliate, as a matter of course? Shirazu had been prone to small pranks, that when answered in kind, had made him light up with easy joy. Hide had had that kind of playfulness, too, at least in private. Kaneki took in a deep breath, shaking off those thoughts. Besides, Furuta was different than them. A strange cloud on the horizon where two bright suns had been extinguished.

 

There was something almost familiar about him that Kaneki couldn’t quite put his finger on. A darkness, almost. Some hidden thing, buried deep – a barely restrained ambiguity that only surfaced in a minor subplot in the convergence of their inner lives.

 

The coffee, sans duck, had been fairly well made. Likely one of the older investigators had brewed a pot in one of the lounges and was now wondering where it went. It wasn’t worth scolding over.

 

It didn't really matter, in the end. Kaneki set the duck in his pocket then waited until he heard Juuzou in the hallway to head out for more coffee. Furuta, who had been hiding in the archives for the last few hours, appeared conveniently, pouting a bit when Kaneki only sipped his coffee to cover his smile at the loud crowing behind him.

 

“Boss?” He looked over, raising an eyebrow as Furuta examined him with an air of exaggerated confusion. “Have you gotten taller?”

 

He didn’t mind being a bit short; it often made people underestimate him, but, _well_. Glad that he didn’t blush easily, he responded in the negative and walked away, his technically work appropriate but significantly more satisfying solid heels tapping on the tile.

 

* * *

 

He was not avoiding Arima. He really wasn't. There was absolutely no reason for him to be looking like that about being turned down for a coffee date. Like Kaneki had personally kicked a tiny puppy in front of him. He hid his emotions well, but Haise had learned to read them all, as easily as the pages of a large font book.

 

Hirako and Ui waited at the end of the hall, observing Arima's back with their usual veiled intensity. Kaneki was perfectly aware of how different he was from Haise, perfectly aware that they were monitoring him any time they were in the same room, _perfectly aware_. They watched him like he was dog that had once been proven to bite, like a beast in human skin, like a disgusting insect, writhing around as it played at humanity under Arima's indulgent gaze. Kaneki had always liked Hirako. He was so much like Yomo, honestly, it was almost endearing. But Ui had never trusted Haise.

 

He mustered a smile and an excuse for Arima's desperation, pretending he wasn't paying more attention to the white guardians behind him.

 

Arima nodded, as accepting and stately as always, turning away slowly. Kaneki caught Ui's dark eyes in the space between. Smoke curled from his mouth, almost thick enough to hide the sneering expression he bore for a quick second. Kaneki stared back, wondering -

 

"Boss! There you are, please can you -" He tried to plaster a smile on his face, the baleful attempt of which Furuta politely ignored from behind a stack of folders. "I found most of the ones you wanted, but there are some missing files -"

 

"Missing?" Ui sharp, suspicious tone drifted back down the hallway.

 

"Misfiled?" Furuta offered weakly, presenting an acceptably cowed expression of innocence. Kaneki raised an eyebrow, waiting. Furuta's too-sweetly squinted eyes flashed to him for a fraction of a second.

 

"Oh, did I not mark those? I already have a few out," Kaneki simpered back, taking the top file off the pile. "It's fine, they're on my desk."

 

Kaneki waited until the Zero squad members had disappeared to use the file as a fan. Furuta wasn't an idiot. He played at it well, the perfect, hapless underdog subordinate, but his mistakes were always too shrewed, too well timed...

 

He was honestly good at archiving and compilation. Not a single one of the useless files Kaneki had requested had been among those he'd stolen. The ones he'd taken were old, unsolved - and now going to remain unsolved, Amon's notes for his cases, some of Akira's older ones that contained dangerous hints for others. Nothing anyone would actually notice, unless they were searched for specifically. Furuta had no reason to bring it up - in front of senior officers - _unless_.

 

"Furuta," He began slowly, interrupting whatever mild pleasantries about the weather Furuta had been spouting, "You haven't gone for lunch yet, have you? Let's go to a cafe today, my treat."

 

* * *

 

 

Kaneki guided them to a tiny cafe in the next ward over, an upscale place with abysmal coffee that a real ghoul would never be caught dead at. Haise had only made the mistake of coming here once. Still, it had private booths with screen walls and a very accommodating - if human - staff.

 

Kaneki smiled at his erstwhile partner, honestly enjoying Furuta's confused squirming. He didn't trust him one bit, but this could prove interesting. It could prove to be the type of thing that ended up being amusing, anyway. And what would happen if it all went south? What were they going to do, kill him faster?

 

He covered his morbid smile with his cup, then had to raise the cup higher to cover his grimace. Truly _awful_. An unfortunately cloudy, poorly filtered texture that was something akin to a solid cup of dregs to his sensitive ghoul's palate. But what it lacked in - well, everything else, it made up for in sheer caffeine content. His stress weakened vision was already steadying. Habit was the only thing that kept his glasses on his face.

 

Furuta had not removed his own black coat, though in their month or so of partnership Kaneki had yet to see him take it off once. This was only partially due to avoiding him. It really seemed like he didn't have any other outfits.

 

With the screen pulled closed, Furuta didn't bother to hide a disgusted expression after he tried his own cup. _So that's what it takes?_ Kaneki mused, _lack of an audience?_

 

 "Now Furuta," He began simply, tapping his gloved nails on his cup, "There's something you're not telling me. I don't quite mind it, but we won't be able to work well together like this, I don't think."

 

Furuta had the good instincts to freeze when confronted, instead of babbling or assuming the worst. Kaneki took another drink of his coffee, giving him a bit of time to collect himself. Would he learn anything here? What was he even hoping for? An ally to hold things back subtly enough to help him get away with certain things, in the future? Or less than that, a scapegoat? _How desperate and cruel was he becoming_ , was the real question.

 

Could he back out here and honestly just hope to ignore Furuta for the next however many months? Yes. Yes, he could. But he was starting to get the idea that action might be the better of his limited options. And this strange man had shown enough dislike for the inner workings and officers of the CCG, all in such small ways...

 

They were both sitting quietly, but the air was painfully tense; violence rose under both their skin, but Kaneki hoped it didn't come to that. It reminded him of the awkward meetings with the ward leaders he'd run into, all power displays and politicking. This - was just a little quieter, somehow. Probably because neither of them really knew why they were here.

 

"Oh, boss, you really think such a thing of me? How cruel! I would never -"

 

"Furuta." The cup clinked gently on the table when he tipped it slightly, smiling as banally as possible, trying to appear encouraging - Haise had been good at that, right?

 

Furuta _eeped_ and laughed nervously, a bit too forced. Kaneki was - not quite losing patience, but he'd been in a mood all day, and the encounter with Arima had set him on edge enough that he'd thrown caution to the wind. He could just barely admit that it was a reaction. An overreaction.

 

He sighed, sitting back completely away from the table, shamefully relieved.

 

"Well, that's fine. Just don't let -"

 

"I'm not! Well, that is to say that - I'm not fond of authority..." Furuta interrupted, growing meeker and meeker as he reached the end of his sentence.

 

Oh. Now _that_ , he could work with. It wasn't the whole story - he didn't expect such a thing - but this could be reasoned with. This could be used. A little understanding and compromise went a long way with unruly subordinates.

 

"In that case, why don't we make a deal?"

 

"Oh, but boss! I'd never go against you, if that's what you're worried about! Things are just a little... inefficient, don't you think?" His constantly moving hands ended up guarding the side of his mouth, as though the very idea that the CCG might be _inefficient_ was scandalous knowledge.

 

Perhaps this had been a worthwhile venture after all. A little gambling now and then could be beneficial - a more honest partner looking outward and expecting solidarity would make Kaneki's life significantly easier. It would take a bit more careful maneuvering to really set that tone, but he could be patient; it wasn't like he had any other way to spend his dwindling hours.

" _It seems like it's the type of inefficiency that can only be made worse, don't you agree?_ " 


	4. A Softer Self

Two and a half months pass this way, from the anniversary of his awakening to _now_ , each moment rolling with alarming quickness into the next.

 

The dreams are coming more vividly, the longer he goes without purpose, without anything but the intense pressure of a hundred possibilities bending his back to breaking, snapping his fingers at the joint, sapping the light from his eyes.

 

* * *

 

_A warm field of soil supports his aching body - the weight of a fever presses him further down. Or is he laying on the sky, being crushed by the earth?_

 

_There's a strange sound, distant but clear, that rings more solidly than the earth. It fills his head with static until the black and white of it bursts from his eyes._

 

_Something presses into his back, like a kick from a rabbit patterned shoe, like a shovel sinking into a grave, like the bubbling pressure of cannibalism. It doesn't hurt.  
_

 

_The pressure of the world flattens him into itself, bursting his ill defined formed at the seems._

 

_He tries to stop himself from melting, but his half formed limbs skitter around like spiders legs and find no purchase. He falls through the white earth, falls into it, still melting, and fills in all the little black squares with his own watery flesh._

 

* * *

 

 He buys a black wig. The more familiar color is strangely dissonant now, but the stranger in the mirror is so much more beautiful than any Kaneki could ever be, though there are similarities to his - his less beloved selves.

 

The beautiful woman in the mirror reflects everything he has learned, everything he has internalized. Rize and his mother shine in the shape and color of her glasses, in the length of her hair, in the dove grey shade of her steely eyes. There’s some of Akira in the strictness of her posture, some of Irimi in her monochrome, some of Itori in the impish length of her short skirt. There is no room for Kaneki Haise to exist in such a visage.

 

This woman feels different, less simple, less easy, and more - reckless - more open, experimental. At the same time, she is somehow all too familiar.

 

She looks down at her feet, still in the same sensible, three inch heels, and thinks _I am going to die_. She takes in a long breath, raises her chin proudly, and marches out the door. The red of her gloves does not stop her.

 

* * *

 

There is an entire ocean of red lipstick to chose from. What she’s read has told her to find a flattering shade that makes her teeth look whiter, that compliments the undertones of her skin, but that doesn’t help her choose between seven brands with 1000 shades altogether.

 

She tugs gently at her long, straight hair, huffing a bit, and glances down at her basket. She’s already picked up most of the things she wanted, so this can wait – but she _really_ wanted to try out red lipstick.

 

A blur of light blue passes through the corner of her eye, skating past the end of the aisle. With only her aesthetic glasses, she couldn't tell who it was, but the sweet, soft color, placed high enough that it could only be hair -

 

The new woman, who had no name of her own yet, paused. She - would not be recognized. Only her scent would give her away - or would it? Smelling like a female ghoul, like Rize and Takatsuki Sen and _kakuja_ , maybe she would never be found. And there were other people with such a hair color. It meant nothing to her.

 

The aisle behind her was full of things that failed to help her. Medical tape, pasties – which, not, not useful, bandaids, eyepatches – _Oh_. That was familiar, nostalgic enough to distract her without being painful. The memories associated with eyepatches were a gentle buzz, compared to the usual maelstrom of recollection. A wonderful distraction.

 

There was a surprising variety – cheap white ones – the same brand she’d once worn – tan, a few sleek black ones, and – two heart shaped eyepatches, one black, one pink.

 

She’d been thinking in terms of severity, when she decided to leave. A nice watch, slender and simple and gold – red shoes, heels, stark and bright – red lipstick – a nicely cut blazer – and those things continued to be beautiful, certainly, and she still wanted them, but – this –

 

 _A pink, heart shaped eyepatch_ , of all things. It was… cute. It was in her hands before she really stopped to think about it – she really didn’t even need an eyepatch anymore, but it was _so cute_ – so familiar and positive and pink and _good_ -

 

Well, it wasn’t like she wasn’t already indulging in whatever she wanted, anyway. The pink plastic packaging clashed harshly with the butter soft red of her gloves. She was going to die. She could do whatever she wanted.

 

Footsteps - maybe the blue haired stranger, maybe not - sounded on the opposite end of the aisle as she walked away. She did not walk faster.

 

The ride home was agonizing. She managed to control herself, but it was hard to sit still, to cross her legs neatly and not fidget like an excited child, to not open up all her new pretty things _right now_. She made it happen, somehow.

 

* * *

 

 

At home, she took her wig off. It was a little on the cheap side, and a bit uncomfortable. The red gloves returned to their hook beside the door, beside the dark coat, beside her black shoes. And her new red ones, which she lined up neatly against the wall - for a few seconds before giving in and putting them on.

 

The new clothes were put away, and the makeup was taken to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror startled her, for a long moment. Her hair -

 

The comb was buried in the back of the drawer, which was one of her worst habits. Since her hair was short, it always seemed like enough to finger comb it, but maybe, if she brushed it further back, slicked the sides with water -

 

Oh. That was actually kind of cute. She'd never kept her hair back before. Even though it was short, and too familiar, it was - it was nice. She liked it, this way.

 

But it was odd now. She always wore wigs, wore longer hair, to look more - more like how she thought a girl should look. But it had always been a bit - off, somehow. Looking like a stranger was an easy way to forget everything else. To be a stranger was easier.

 

This person in the mirror was very clearly Kaneki Ken. Or - some kind of Kaneki. An amalgamation of many things, set apart from reality. Outlined like a picture by the mirror frame, and just distant enough to be safe. But it didn't feel _bad_. It wasn't overwhelming, or too different or even too little. This was a person who was not quite a girl, but not quite a boy either. This was just Kaneki with nicer clothes. He couldn't help but snort a bit, at that, relaxing as he continued to examine - himself?

 

Kaneki looked further into the mirror and quietly thought _they_. Ah, no. That didn't quite - encapsulate everything. It didn't speak to both sides, not in a concrete way. Or maybe it did, but it was too much for him. There was a metaphor there, somewhere.

 

She could be Kaneki, for a little while longer; they were a duality, two sides of a spectrum, two covers of the same book. Male and female, human and ghoul - these sort of feelings were complicated, and there may not be a right answer.

 

Kaneki examined her hands - one built of the stuff of ghouls, the other human. Both had been given to her by others - by strange women that she never even hoped to understand - but they were both integral to her body, now. Both just small pieces of an infinitesimal whole. Perhaps it was an act of defiance to recreate himself - to reassign and rename each piece as he saw fit.

 

He clenched his fists, feeling steadier than he had in weeks. This was something he had control over, something that he had the first and last words on. His body may have been added onto by others in the past, but it was _Kaneki_ now that wielded that strength. That was all that mattered to her.

 

But it was certainly true that Takatsuki Sen was - alive. Around. Somewhere, without evidence for ghoulishness. Without proof of a kakuja. With no reason to ever be seen as anything other than purely human. Only Kaneki had seen her - only Kaneki had eaten her.

 

He couldn't learn everything there was about all the people who had become part of himself over time - fate knew he didn't deserve to - but he could find Takatsuki Sen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame every good ass picture of Kaneki in heels for all of this, even though it's pretty canon that he has terrible taste in shoes. You know the ones I mean.


	5. Compact Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy Trans day of visibility yall here's some plot

_She woke softly, slowly, and not at all. Weightless sand shifted heavily beneath her glowing body, aimlessly comfortable. Light streamed in like snakes, striping the dune she lay on and blinding her in one eye. The blinds rustled in the desert wind, letting great swathes of fresh air into the sand filled house. The dunes swept through the halls like great white whales, blundering and massive, yet benevolent. They filled the house halfway, burying any furniture it might have once held and scoring the walls clean to the bone._

 

_Here, hidden and warm and drifting in an empty house, she felt safe. The door, blown open by sandstorms long past and pockmarked with tiny scratches and holes along the jam, loomed closer. The doorway held only light. A hand gripped hers, stilling her buoying, star like form._

 

Oh, _she thought,_ the moon.

 

_A second hand, ripped from the face of a clock, joined the hand of the moon around her wrists, her shoulders, her throat._

 

_Together, they pulled her down._

 

* * *

 

 

 It was not easy to locate Taktsuki Sen. She remembered now, so long ago, in a cafe with Tsukiyama - _perhaps we might catch a glimpse of her?  It seems she's rather elusive._

 

In the meantime, a book had come out.

 

Kaneki preordered it like the rest of her Takatsuki collection - _where was it now? Did her college apartment still stand? Had Hide cleaned it out? Where were her books, her old life, her human objects?_ \- but she did not read it. _King Bilegyr_ sat on her shelf in the front corner, wedged where she did not have to see it unless she wanted to.

 

Takatsuki Sen was harder to ignore, harder to look away from. How could one person so heavily connected to the local literary scene and with a train of fans as long as Tokyo itself just disappear? Kaneki only had a few people to miss her and she didn't even manage to do that. She ran into them again - she was found. The same had to hold true for Takatsuki - it just had to.

 

It would be better if it did, at least. Kaneki was getting tired or running around so much. The CCG, the Washuu - they both seemed content to allow her to run amok and do as she pleased, so long as Furuta remained in place at her side. She'd been receiving a suspicious lack of reprimands and commentary, lately, even when the reports and her barely revealed reasoning felt like bold faced lies even to herself.

 

Kaneki had not been left entirely alone with the ever pleased Furuta, however. Arima continued to sniff around, finding every excuse to speak with her, to sit near to her, to appear in corridors she was walking through. He never forced their interactions, nothing was actually different, but the small nod - as if in solidarity with her - that he gave as they passed each other by too many times in a day was -both wonderful and anxiety inducing.

 

He hadn't shown much interest in the case she was building up, but then again, he hadn't much talked to Haise about work, either. They mostly spoke about books, whenever they were able to speak. The case wasn't much yet, anyway. Just hints, a carefully cultivated suspicion. Enough to be given the go ahead, to be allowed use of the CCG's bountiful resources. That was all that mattered.

 

Her blood was burning bitter, these days.

 

 _Takatsuki Sen_.

 

* * *

 

 

 "Boss!" Furuta called, breathless from running down the hall and succinct in a way that rarely happened.

 

Kaneki looked up from her laptop, eyeing him as he danced by the doorway, shifting awkwardly with an armload of files. She sighed and excused herself from the Zero squad members that had also remained after their shifts. Only Ui, Hirako, and an unfamiliar short figure had stayed. She pretended not to hear Ui's snort as she guided Furuta back out the door.

 

"What is it?"

 

Furuta was practically vibrating. "I have a gift for you, boss! Well, I don't think you'll like it, but it does... _match up_."

 

The pause was punctuated with an air of over dramatic secrecy as Furuta looked around the hallway before handing her a brief report from atop the precarious stack of thin folders. They almost looked empty, though some of them had single sheets of paper sticking out. _More abandoned cases then?_

 

She skimmed the report, then read it again, feeling her barely banked anxiety and uneasiness flickering, dangerously close to anger.

 

When she lowered the report, Furuta was squeezing the tiny files, looking at her with a withheld expression that bordered on manic glee.

 

"Can we do something about this, if the CCG won't?" He begged excitedly, like a child asking for a puppy knowing that its parent had already given in.

 

Kaneki could not speak, but wordlessly took the files and left without clocking out.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke the next day, he had not dreamed.

 

The air was disgustingly clean; the kitchen chair lay in splinters on the floor, dismantled almost clinically.

 

Kaneki could barely breathe, but he needed to think. _The CCG - everything and everyone inside it. Cochlea, the same. The files he'd been given, the files he'd stolen. Furuta. How good of a decision it was to be getting people on his side, on the inside. On the fringes. But that wasn't enough. The date was drawing nearer and nearer, the ends of his hair curling longer, the scales of his hand falling away slowly as it healed._

 

 _That's right._ The date of his death was looming closer - what did it matter if he took a few risks, gained some new insight? The backs of those who had made him were getting farther and farther away. Takatsuki Sen. Arima Kishou.

 

So what if he reached out to touch them, instead of living in their creeping shadows?

 

He pulled _King Bilegyr_ from the shelf.


	6. Poison Apple

Her glasses were no longer strong enough.

 

For daily use, they were serviceable and for close work they were still useful, but sometimes her vision would flicker out in fits and bursts, blinding darkness creeping in from the edges, eating away her sight until only an indistinct tunnel into reality remained. It happened more and more often, worse each time, as her stress grew as the days crept past. The darkness that consumed her vision had a name, though it remained outside of the CCG's databanks - _for now_.

 

There was so little on her plate - just that name, that woman, that ghoul - and Hinami. And Shirazu. Hinami was - Hinami was her priority. She was in active danger, though that scheduled death was distressingly, weightily, edging closer and closer and _closer_ as she wasted what little time she had in her reckless pursuit of Takatsuki Sen. Though it hurt her bleeding heart to think such things, Shirazu was the lowest on the list, the bones beside the tender meat. He was gone and _gone_ , and the only thing Kaneki could do for him would be to give his corpse peace. There was no danger, for something not alive could not face any; Shirazu's memory languished under intentional neglect.

 

It was something that felt both sacred and profane at once - what _right_ did she have, as a ghoul, as a cannibal, as one who wielded a quinque, to mourn the loss of a body? How many had she destroyed, in her hubris and in her hunger? She _knew_ this grief, she had always known this grief - but it had never stopped her before, had never stayed her hand, her kagune, her teeth. So many had died and so many bodies were desecrated, _what right did she have?_

 

And yet she mourned. The grief ate at her, another tiny, nibbling mouth set against her gray matter, joining in the dozens already present. It propelled her forward, casting her into blindness from the weight of her own shadow, the weight of action.

 

Kaneki could not approach Hinami's situation yet - for that, she needed strength, timing, and the absolute courage to throw herself into the flames. None of those had been achieved yet. But they could be tempered. Takatsuki Sen had designated herself a drowning stone for the downfall of Kaneki Haise, without knowing that Kaneki had been in need of a whetstone. This opportunity was beyond perfect - this great thread woven into her life, this hectic metaphor for death and tenacity that had lived in the shadow of her bookshelves since childhood continued to support her. If she could not understand Takatsuki Sen's vision, her strength, then she could learn to work around it, to leverage herself above it - to use what had been given to her.

 

Being ready to die and being ready to accept death are two wholly different ideas, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

To capture an author, one must think like an author. Too long had Kaneki been thinking like a character, stepping backwards in the plot, turning away from the spotlight that illuminated protagonists - as a result, she had slowly lost her place. The narrative was at a stand still - a congested string of descriptive sentences that lead the weary eye of the reader away from the page and into reality, seeking the missing pieces in themselves, others, crowds, coffee, flesh. That cafe from a lifetime ago still stood, slightly remodeled and with an updated menu.

 

Kaneki stood beside the door for a long moment, surveying through the clean windows. The bright, new interior was almost painfully modern - minimalist beyond practicality, almost clinical. The substance of a quaint little coffee shop had been erased. This didn't encourage loitering - it barely seemed welcoming enough to stay for a cup. Humans truly led such different lives; a dark, quiet place hidden behind thick glass, with heavy old doors and a familiar staff were absolutely integral to running a coffee shop. This was an affront. It held all the charm of a drive through window in a chain restaurant.

 

 _This place was far too human_. It had changed too much, taken on the colors of doves. Takatsuki Sen would not be found here any longer. _Neither would Tsukiyama Shuu._

 

Sighing quietly, she turned away from the door, abandoning her first and only lead - aside from the editor, who had mysteriously and conveniently remained at an unknown location. That would need to be dealt with. Maybe she could make Furuta do it, the office location was on record, at the least. Walking away from the cafe, she fished her phone out of her pocket to contact Furuta. He loved it when she suddenly dropped things on him on his days off.

 

Her foot slipped forward suddenly, almost tripping her up in her new heels, but she managed to right herself quickly. Kaneki paused to the side of the sidewalk, glancing at the thing on the bottom of her shoe - a small business card was impaled rather impressively on her left heel. She squinted at the delicate task of removing it without touching the dirty shoe bottom - she really needed new glasses. It wasn't very clear what was on the card, although it appeared to have at least not been rained on yet. Storms seemed to be rolling in from the West frequently.

 

There weren't any garbage cans around, so she pocketed the card and walked on a bit more carefully, thinking only of cafes and coffee and long afternoons spent wondering the city, chasing a certain scent -

 

* * *

 

 

The fifth cafe she passed gave her pause. It was one of the ones Haise had frequented, though they hadn't really understood _why_.

 

The atmosphere was perfect - it was small and well worn, all dark wood and ancient coffee rings. It absolutely reeked of ghoul. Takastuki Sen was in the business of hiding her identity - being known to ghouls would cause as many problems as being known to humans, though it would certainly have gained her more friends than enemies. Certainly, she wouldn't be here either. But it was getting dark, and the coffee smelled wonderful. Her search could end here tonight.

 

It had been some time since Kaneki had sat in a cafe and read - it had been months since she had been able to relax. Though it may not have counted as _relaxing_ to be rereading _King Bilegyr_ for the fourth time, carefully penciling new notes in the margins of her messy copy. Kaneki had the distinct sense that it was the right thing to do; it was so clearly addressed to ghouls - addressed to the One Eyed King. Whatever small internal symbols she could find may very well be clues to Takatsuki Sen's motives or ideology. She already felt that she understood Takatsuki on an emotional level very well - that bitter, biting loneliness, the self-immolation of the starving moth for scraps of affection, the bone deep roots of darkness, of rot, of both ghoulish hatred and human entitlement - but just how far she was willing to go was still a mystery.

 

Would she really lead a revolution through Algiri? Was she a pied piper, a snake, a herald of the end - either dragon or mother - or was she the One Eyed King? Kaneki had once been judged inferior to her, based on their eyes. Was she still?

 

Kaneki had done nothing but dig her heels in and make horrible, plot rending decisions when the narrative arrived to her point of view. Her personal narration had been poetic and rich enough to satisfy a hungry reader, she hoped, but Kaneki had never once been something like a protagonist. Takatsuki Sen had always been in the center of her own life - certainly someone with so much power, so much potential, so much rage, could only be the protagonist.

 

But Takatsuki had connected them - it was through her violence, her blood, that Kaneki had been reborn from the trembling ashes of Haise. She'd even been given a new name at her rebirth - Kaneki Haise. Had it been more mockery - _I love you!_ \- or was it a challenge? A gift, maybe - _Kaneki Haise!_ Something she had been given to cling to when all else had been taken away?

 

She felt more and more like some kind of _Kaneki Haise_ with every breath.

 

Those thoughts had distracted her, so she had to remove her book from three inches from her face in order to return to reading. _Honestly_. It had been so long since her eyes were injured - if she cared about the state of her body, she would have been worried about it. Her right hand itched along joint between skin and grafted kagune. The dividing line on Kaneki's body where Kaneki Haise ended and Takatsuki Sen began ached in the rain.

 

Something loomed over Kaneki's table while she was blinded from rubbing her sore eyes. When she snapped her head up at the intrusion, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing - it had to just be her eyes. It had to be a trick of the light, of the dark, of the familiar ghoul-scent that surrounded her, of her weak, bleeding heart - this had to be a hallucination brought on by her guilt, meant to make her suffer. She'd been self-flagellating too much, and this was her divine interference. Kaneki couldn't _breathe_.

 

"E-excuse me," The great lie beside her breathed, barely above sound level a stinging, horrible hope welling into its voice, "You - Kaneki? Is it really you?"

 

Kaneki, for a cruel, hilarious second, thought of running her arm through its abdomen to dispel the illusion. To prove that it couldn't be real. She felt like laughing. She felt like crying. Her desperate eyes _ached_.

 

"Banjo?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally graduated university so now I have all the time in the world to write fanfic yall. Too bad depression exists ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ tbh having this story published where other people can yell at me and encourage me to write is the only thing making it happen. Thanks for all the comments so far, fam, have cleaner tags as a Reward
> 
> And, in honor of Pride month, it's headcanon/canon for this universe time:  
> GHOULS  
> Agender pansexual Uta  
> Gay Yomo  
> Big old he/him butch lesbian Koma, and you can pry THAT from my cold, dead hands  
> Bisexual Touka  
> Aro Itori  
> Saiko takes after her maman and is poly  
> Banjo is trans and straight  
> I feel like Rize needs her own exploration as far as anything related to her personal parsing of sexuality, so not yet.  
> TataraXHoji for life  
> Eto Shall Remain Mystery For Now ;)  
> CCG  
> Akira is the token straight but is also horny for Seido/Amon/Akira  
> Amon is too sad to think things through currently :(  
> Juuzou identifies as male and is aro, but sex positive in general  
> Hanbee is nonbinary  
> Cool Lesbian Aunt Aura Kyoko  
> Mutsuki is still my trans son but idk he might be bi? We'll put a soft demisexual there  
> Urie gay af but still in that I Am StraightTM phase  
> Matsuri gay and gender nonconforming (gnc)  
> Furuta is a cishet boi, we all know it
> 
> Since not everybody will get a front and center exploration, it's only fair that I put this out there.


End file.
